


blood in the cut

by vois



Series: miraluci pwp [1]
Category: Densetsu no Yuusha no Densetsu | The Legend of the Legendary Heroes
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:55:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21785551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vois/pseuds/vois
Summary: Miran and Lucile have settled into a charmingly irregular schedule of violent... encounters. Calling them duels or even challenges would be overly generous.Calling it romantic should be the same, and yet it is undeniable that these meetings are beginning to take a different direction as of late...
Relationships: Lucile Eris/Miran Froaude
Series: miraluci pwp [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1592449
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	blood in the cut

**Author's Note:**

  * For [idola](https://archiveofourown.org/users/idola/gifts).



Here's how it happens.

A pivot, feint, twist. A blinding mist. An arm augmented with shadows, pushed blindly upwards and vaguely hoping for a solar plexus.

Here's how _that_ happened.

A series of challenges, each issued with less fanfare than the last. That is to say, with less warning - unfortunate truth that it may be, it is still a truth that Miran needs every advantage in a duel when it's against this man. This monster of a man. (And it's generous, isn't it, to call them duels.) 

Here's why it happens. Or so, at least, he thinks.

Miran's desperate. Maybe because of his embarrassment from their last altercation, still burning high, maybe because of the added shame of many sweltering yet silent nights (silent only because he damn near bit his own tongue off as he tried to wring more feeling from that memory). Maybe it's just because he's lucky, if not in getting a shot in then because - he holds the thought with more hope than even kings - perhaps, perchance, _just possibly_ , Lucile liked it too. Through quiet nights or ones filled with screams. Back then or just now. Anything. Anything.

Here's the 'it'.

\- Lucile moans.

Lucile moans, and Miran's heart skips a beat.

He's still enough for several moments, in awe of Lucile's wetness. Lucile's heat. Lucile's very own body, the flesh that envelops his hand, the blood that's oh so slowly dripping. Lucile's skin, broken around his wrist. Lucile, Lucile who hasn't killed him, despite everything, despite how long Miran's been still and shocked and staring. 

But Lucile, he hasn't moved either.

Miran manages to drag his eyes away from the wound - the wound his fingers, oh god, his _fingers_ are in, and upwards to Lucile's face. Lucile's expression. Lucile's for once unsmiling expression. Instead of smiling, he's - 

His lips are parted in the softest little circle, his eyes are more closed than open as usual but Miran thinks, Miran _thinks_ he might see the slightest sliver of blue beneath those pale sweeping lashes, there's a strained flush to his cheeks and. And. 

Miran's never seen…

Well. There's plenty of Lucile Eris Miran has never seen.

But this… this expression. This expression that he can think of only as erotic. This expression that Lucile Eris is allowing him to see, when by all rights he should pluck Miran's eyes from their sockets for daring to lay his gaze on something so… heavenly.

This is one less thing he has not seen. 

"...My apologies," Lucile says, finally. His voice has an ever so slight edge to it. A rasp. Miran wonders how long it has been since he plunged his hand through Lucile's abdomen. If the answer revealed itself to be an hour, a day, even an eternity, he would accept that. That such a span of time could pass as he remained transfixed, oblivious, unrealizing - that, he could believe.

"And what is it that you are apologizing for? I am, after all, the one who…" Miran swallows. His hand is _still_ buried, up to the wrist, in Lucile's flesh. Lucile's _flesh._ He could - he could - 

"Yes," Lucile says. Slightly breathlessly. "I wonder. Do you intend to pull your hand out of me? Anytime soon, that is."

Miran's gaze flits between Lucile's lips - he can catch the barest hint of teeth - and the hole where some vital organ should be. Vital for humans. Instead, Lucile is a monster. Instead, Miran's fingers are buried several inches deep. Yes. Yes. Part of him is buried within Lucile Eris, and Miran cannot bring himself to leave.

"If I say I do not?"

By this point the searing pain that rips through his arm is more familiar than anything, and he welcomes it as if it were a long and dreamless sleep. His human body is not so accepting. When he blinks the spots from his vision Miran sees the ceiling. A familiar ceiling, only…

Lucile comes into view. 

Faintly, barely audible over the sound of his blood roaring, Miran can hear a wet noise. A wet noise, repeating.

"I took the liberty," Lucile informs him, "of bringing us somewhere more secluded. Of course, you are free to leave."

He had attacked Lucile in the halls of the palace. Above him is the Eris dojo's ceiling.

The last time he was here… the last time. 

"...Duke Eris," Miran manages. He can think of nothing else to say. He can barely think, really. His skin is already burning, even though Lucile has reattached his arm here many times before. Even though this might not mean anything. 

_But last time_ , he thinks.

"Do you need help in standing?" Lucile asks. Miran imagines that it might be close to trembling. "It might be difficult in this state. But I thought you might like to see."

Miran finds it revolting that he has been reduced to this, paralyzed by a concept more than anything. It would be the height of idiocy to admit to his need before an opponent, an _enemy_ , but. He has an idea of what he is going to see.

He swallows.

"...please."

Lucile laughs. He feels a weight settle across his hips, pressing comfortably on his… hardness, and then a hand fisted in the collar of his jacket, hauling him up none too carefully.

Miran finds himself nearly nose to nose with Lucile Eris. Lucile Eris, who is gripping Miran's severed arm and fingering his wound with it.

"Do you dislike it?" Lucile asks, and Miran's breath catches as he opens his eyes ever so slightly. "Is it embarrassing? After last time, I wouldn't think so, but you can be so surprising."

"I," Miran manages, "That is, ah, mmh."

Lucile laughs again. Miran finds himself thinking that it's rather pretty. It has nothing on the sight before him, though. 

Five fingers - two Lucile's own, three his, _his_ although he can't feel it - disappearing into the open wound. How must it feel. How must it _feel_ \- 

"Do you want to touch it? Perhaps earlier was not quite enough for you," Lucile breathes, and then moves his thighs ever so slightly. Miran's remaining arm shoots out to grip his hip and try to keep Lucile from lifting himself off of - of - mmgh.

"Oh? You'd rather touch elsewhere, I see."

Miran swallows. "If that is," he starts, hating himself for how his voice is wobbling. "If that is acceptable to you."

And it might not be. Miran is in no place to make commentary, but he could hardly help noticing. Last time Lucile had controlled the pace entirely, stepping on Miran's cock oh so elegantly, tearing his arm away as he reached down to seemingly help Miran to his feet, pressing him to his knees… yes. Lucile had controlled him, then. Absolutely. With nothing but Lucile's knee pressed between his legs and Lucile's fingers digging into the fresh stump, still bleeding - 

"You've gotten harder already. I haven't even answered you and you're like this. Just what is it that you are imagining?" Lucile's smile turns wicked as he leans in. If Miran mirrored his movements now, then Lucile's mouth might brush his cheek, or even the corner of his lips. "Or should I say it differently? Tell me, Miran Froaude, what is it that you plan to do with me?"

A demon.

Lucile Eris must be a demon. 

No human could possibly be this appealing. Even his Majesty had confessed to being the host of something unearthly. Is this appeal - dangerous, bloodchilling - what drove the goddesses to war and hunt and exile their own kind? Is this appeal what drove the church, the ancient kings, the disappeared nobility, to do such vile things?

His heart… it's racing.

"Such silence is unusual for you," Lucile continues. He is leaning on Miran now, slightly, and jerking as his movements pick up speed. As he penetrates himself with both his own fingers and Miran's. No, that is, that sounds, that wording is suggesting something inaccurate. But it doesn't have to be.

"I desire to enter you," Miran says, and Lucile answers without hesitation, "Then strip me."

Having received permission, Miran slides his hand up the rest of Lucile's thigh immediately. Only once his hand has reached the waist of Lucile's leggings does it occur to him that it might be difficult with just one hand. 

Lucile seems to have realized this as well, with no small amount of amusement. "Here - "

"No, allow me," Miran interrupts, and leans forward. He would not call his behavior gentle, but certainly he could have pushed Lucile onto his back more roughly.

...he has never been above Lucile Eris like this before. He allows himself a moment to take in the sight before resuming his task. Despite the hellish reward that awaits him it is still difficult to do so. 

Miran pushes the front of Lucile's robe to the side, just enough to expose his hip, and then leans down to catch the waist of his leggings between his teeth.

Lucile goes still. 

He glances upwards quickly to check Lucile's expression - which is expectant, thank god - before he slides his fingers across to the other hip and hooks them in. From here, it goes smoothly. Miran is experienced in undressing people with his teeth.

Lucile is quiet as Miran shuffles back up his body, fingers tracing his legs as he goes. He pets Miran's head, as if to congratulate him on a job well done, and then pulls the front of his robes aside completely.

Between his legs it is smooth like a doll, or a mannequin. 

"I'm certain you've noticed, haven't you?" Lucile asks. "Since I've shown myself to you this many times. Though you might have had your gaze focused elsewhere…"

He sounds a bit peeved. But Miran is not that unobservant, is he? "I was aware that you could alter your body. Primarily I have seen this in regards to your height, but I was unaware of the extent…"

"Mm." Lucile opens and closes his eyes, pleased. "Yes. You're quite clever. But I am showing you now, that the extent of this trick is far beyond just height… you said you would like to enter me, yes? And how would you like it?"

The possibilities flash through Miran's mind, concepts far more vivid than visions. A tight, red, grinding heat. A softer one, red nonetheless, and dripping. To be the one penetrating is already a privilege. That Lucile is allowing him so much, it feels like the deepest of indulgences.

"...I would rather you decide this, Duke Eris."

"Mm. Hoping to glean something of my personality? A weakness for the next time we meet?" Lucile does not seem to expect an answer from the way he spreads his legs and palms the space between, which is good, because Miran does not answer. Miran could not answer even if he desired to, because the sight is mesmerising. The sight, as Lucile lifts his fingers away to reveal a newly-formed cunt, pink and glistening, is mesmerising.

"Duke Eris." Miran's voice is nearly a whisper, his lungs having been gripped by a sudden urgency.

"Mm. You may enter me."

Miran frees his cock with a clumsiness he has not known in years and years, and presses forward just as messily. It is hot, dizzyingly so, and from the pitch of Lucile's moan it is just as overwhelming for him.

Good. Good.

He rolls his hips, rutting against Lucile's cunt near mindlessly. The tip of his cock is entirely wet and there is more wetness trickling down his length. Is it from Lucile? From him? He has no way of knowing. The idea that their fluids might mix is tantalizing. It has always been. For so long, Miran has dreamed of having to clean blood not his own off of his skin. 

He wonders if Lucile felt the same. If Lucile might have touched his fingertips to the spots of Miran's blood flecked along the hem of his robes and smiled. 

"I - ah - gave you permission to, mmh, enter, didn't… I?"

\- ah, so a demon such as Lucile Eris can also become impatient?

Pressing in, he feels as though Lucile is unimaginably tight. This heat. This soft, coiling heat. It is like being strangled by luxury, and indeed, he feels lightheaded with it. Below him, Lucile is sighing and moving his hips too much to just be twitching, not quite enough to be squirming. If it is this tight for him then the burn of the stretch, for Lucile, must be unbearable for anyone else - but the _sounds_ he is making. The _sounds_. He had never imagined, even in his deepest fantasies, that Lucile might sound like this. 

Still, Miran knows he is gifted in size, so to speak. Even if Lucile enjoys this… it's better to go slowly, at least at fi-

…

"Ah," Lucile gasps, "I see you've, mm, found… it?"

"You… have a hymen," Miran manages, not quite intelligently.

Lucile huffs out a laugh and tilts his head up, looking at Miran without opening his eyes. "Do you dislike it?"

To the contrary.

To the contrary, the idea of breaking a part of Lucile Eris irreparably and making him bleed is - the idea that Lucile can recreate himself to such an extent like this is - 

"...hm. You grew," Lucile says, delighted. "Shall I keep this in mind for the future, then?"

For the _future_ \- 

"Certainly," Miran chokes out, and before Lucile can laugh at him again, draws his hips back - and thrusts in deeply. 

The sensation of Lucile tearing around his tip, tearing because of him, it is. It is. He is wordless. He is simply overcome by it. Lucile is not faring any better, fumbling at his wound, his chest, his clit. Miran pushes in until - god, is that his _cervix_ , of course Lucile would amaze him so completely - he bottoms out, and then grinds uselessly, needily, until Lucile's moans become closer to whimpers.

Before Lucile can speak again, Miran snaps his hips back, inhaling deeply at the cold air hitting his damp skin - and then forward. Forward, again. 

It takes him some time to set a rhythm. Lucile's _ohh_ s and _ahh_ s would drive even a Runan priest to distraction, and the way he clenches and ripples around Miran every now and then is even worse. Miran ends up closing his eyes and thinking about heartbeats. About whether Lucile has a heartbeat. About Lucile's heart pushing blood out of a wound. Out of a wound that Miran might create - 

It must show on his face, how close he is, because Lucile's hand shoots up to grasp his collar and yank him down. For a few moments, there is only the sound of panting against his ear. 

Then,

"Inside," Lucile whispers. "I want it there."

Miran comes.

-

"...Your transformation was very complete."

"Oh, is that how it seemed?"

"I hope you will not think me uncouth for asking, but regarding the details of your highly unique anatomy - "

"Haha. Don't worry. There was no womb for you to fill… this time."

"Ah. That is good to… Duke Eris, could you kindly repeat yourself? Did you say 'this time'?"

"Ah, was I mistaken in thinking you might like a repeat of this encounter? What a shame."

"It was not my intent to imply such a thing, Duke Eris."

"I'm well aware, Miran Froaude. Please sit back down before you…"

Thump.

"...ruin those stitches."

"Ah."

"Kindly remain calm until I finish reattaching your arm, this time."

"This time. Yes."  
  



End file.
